a deadly storm, an unsolved disappearance, and a small town brimming with secrecy;
an outcast girl, a boy who only knows how to hide, and the world against them;
what could go wrong?
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Sharp knocking pierces the still air. Boo jolts upright in a confused haze, her heart sent into a sprint by her rude awakening. Warm skin burns against her as she struggles to enter the conscious world; she soon becomes acutely aware of toned arms wrapped around her, holding her close. She rubs her blurry eyes, fighting to wake up and detangle herself from a sleeping Harry.
Soft morning light peers in through gauzy white curtains. Boo yawns and sits up, running her hands through her unkempt hair as Harry stirs beside her. The blankets from his bed have been cast off onto the surrounding floor, leaving her legs wrapped in a thin sheet while Harry is left in only his boxers. A deep sigh leaves Boo lips as she momentarily forgets what'd woken her up in the first place.
That is, until the impatient banging sounds again and she realizes someone is at the front door.
"I'm in the bathroom," Harry mumbles groggily, his face pressed into a pillow. "I needed the peanut butter."
"Coming!" Boo warbles, practically falling out of bed before stumbling into the living room. In their haste, she and Harry had forgotten about the mess of papers still left scattered across the floor. A dark shadow hovers on the front porch, mottled by the stained-glass window cut into the front door. Boo yanks open the door, welcoming in a flood of warm summer air and the unexpected face of Detective Loughton.
"Detective," she says bluntly. "What are you doing here?"
He seems oddly unfazed by her presence. "Could ask you the same thing but I think we both know why," he bites back.
Boo is suddenly acutely aware of the fact that Harry's black shirt is the only thing covering her small frame. She tugs down the hem of his shirt to shield her bare thighs and replies, "Last I checked, visiting a friend isn't a crime."
Loughton's acrid stare hardens as a tense pause ensues. A soft breezes ruffles through Boo's loose curls, gently tickling the nape of her neck. Finally, Loughton sighs and breaks his glare. "Believe it or not but I didn't come to harass. I just want the files back."
Boo's blood runs cold, and she knows. "You left that writing on my window, didn't you?"
Her outright question is more than an admission of guilt, but so is the shameful expression that passes Loughton's face. "You shouldn't have taken those files. That information is confidential."
Boo almost asks why she's been added to a suspect list when the entire police department is continually saying that Martha merely died in the hurricane. Instead she decides to probe the obvious.
"Why aren't I being arrested?"
She's pushing her luck and she knows it. His eyes flash in annoyance. "Let's just say I wasn't at my post and you getting in was an egregious oversight on my part. This can stay between us so long as you return everything you took."
Boo ponders the opportunity she's just been given. "Give me a second," she finally agrees, dipping inside to collect the files together before handing them back with a grimace. Her own is situated on top, the corner of Loughton's interview notes just peeking out for her to see. "That's all of it."
